


Paralyzed

by bottomofnight



Category: CrankGameplays - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: 1st person, Depressed!Ethan, Depression, Derealization, Dissociation, Egg Drop Video, Gen, POV First Person, Sad, Self Harm, Self-Harm, Short One Shot, Short Story, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 11:28:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20025055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottomofnight/pseuds/bottomofnight
Summary: Ethan, Mark, and Tyler had just finished shooting the Egg Drop video for Mark's channel and Ethan was feeling especially down. He needed something to feel alive again; he was like a robot watching a movie of his life.





	Paralyzed

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for graphic depictions of self-harm and suicidal and depressed thoughts. Stay safe, guys. PMA
> 
> Also, Ethan, Mark, and Tyler all live together in this fic. I’m not sure why I decided that, but it made the most sense at the time, I guess.
> 
> It’s been like 6 months since I posted this and I don’t remember writing it at all so it’ll most likely be edited again.

I put the last bit of paper towel into the garbage can. God, that was a lot of egg yolk. To be honest, it was mostly all from the eggs that I broke. My whole contraption was a disaster in itself. My mind was so full of racing thoughts that I couldn’t even build something decent. I couldn’t keep track of it all, and it led me to fail at this stupid video. Why am I so upset over this? Who knew an egg drop video could make me fall apart like this? I’m so fucking pathetic. 

“Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic,” I whispered to myself, running my hand through my hair. 

“What’d you say?” Mark asked from the sink as he washed his hands. Surprised, I looked up at him. Due to being so lost in thought, I had completely blocked out everything else. Life was moving around me, but I didn’t feel like I was alive. I didn’t feel real; as though everyone was living to their full potential and I was trapped behind a glass wall, being punished for all of my failures. 

“Oh, nothing,” I laughed, “I had totally forgotten you were there.” 

Mark sighed, turning his full attention to me, “Ethan, you did good. You don’t have to feel bad; you did the best you could.” 

I nodded, “I know, I’m okay now.” In order to seem as genuine as possible, I smiled and excused myself, hoping to not have to hold my broken self together for any longer. 

I entered the bathroom and locked the door out of habit before leaning against the counter, fingers dipping into the sink. I looked at myself in the mirror, the man that was in front of me didn’t seem like me. Although I knew it was me, I didn’t feel like I was inside of him; like I wasn’t living his life, but I was, and I wish I wasn’t. 

I hung my head, too exhausted to cry. Today hadn’t been good from the start, but that video just tipped me over the edge. Needing something to bring me back, I reached for the pack of razors in the cupboard, pulling one out. Am I doing this again? I always thought I’d get better, that it would’ve been a one-time thing. How could I have been so wrong? 

Pushing my sleeves up, I took note of the scarred skin that used to be perfectly unmarked. In an attempt to see if I really was alive and that this wasn’t all a dream, I pressed two fingers to my wrist. Beat after beat pulsed through my fingertips. If I’m alive, why do I feel like I’m constantly moving in slow motion? Fuck it. I need to be brought back to reality; to physically see that I’m alive. I need to feel again. 

Prying open the razor and getting a blade out was easy enough, and I thought for a moment that I would regret what I was about to do, but I didn’t even hesitate. I didn’t hesitate to drag that blade across my wrist over and over, pressing as hard as I could. Relief and pain washed over me, comforting me in some sick, twisted way. It was nice to feel alive again, and seeing the fat and dermis showing through each cut made me come back to life. That, and the most comforting feeling of all, the blood running down my arm and the soft sound of it hitting the sink with every drip. 

As I stood there for minutes with my head tilted back and eyes closed, the endorphins wore off, and I was left with nothing but pain. It brought me to look down at what I had actually done. Oh, that’s a bit worse than I expected; it didn’t even feel that painful before, but a sharp pain then tore through my arm, my body finally registering the damage I had caused myself. The cuts were thick and deep and the blood was at a constant flow off of my arm. What had I done? Silent screams caught in my throat and I grabbed at my wrist in a desperate attempt to stop the unbearable pain. 

* * *

Eventually, I had managed to wrap my wrist up pretty well with a tension bandage, but the pain still hadn’t left. I was sitting in my room putting pressure on my wrist when Mark called out for dinner. My options were to keep my hand wrapped around my wrist and not be in terrible pain, but also risk someone noticing it, or to not keep my hand there and be in terrible pain, with a slightly lower risk of someone noticing that too. Thoughts of everyone finding out raced through my head and I had decided that I was good enough at hiding the pain that I could pull off the second option. 

So there I was, entering the kitchen with Tyler following close behind. We made some small talk and I waited for everyone to dish up so I didn’t get in their way. Once they left to sit at the table, I grabbed the last plate on the counter, instantly regretting it as pain shot through my wrist again, causing me to quickly grab the plate with my other hand. No heavy objects, got it. I piled the food onto my plate and joined the others at the table, smiling and making conversation to not bring attention too close to me. It was nice and I felt pretty good afterward. 

Due to always finishing my food first, I always got a head start on the dishes. So I went to town, cleaning the dirty dishes and cutlery. The pain was finally starting to ease up and I didn’t mind the water soaking through my sleeves, but Mark did. 

“You know you don’t have to do the dishes every night,” he said, walking up behind me with everyone’s empty plates. I shrugged, I enjoyed helping out. Mark scraped any spare food into the garbage and stood beside me with the plates, submerging them in the water I had filled the sink up with. “Your sleeves are getting wet.” 

I continued washing the plate I had in my hand as to ignore his gaze, “I don’t mind it.” This wasn’t going to end well; I could already feel it. 

“Ethan.” His voice cracked. 

“Hmm?” 

“What did you do?” His whisper spun around in my head. I don’t know what I did, Mark. I felt like a robot and the only thing that would help was tearing up the skin on my arm. I didn’t even feel what I was doing at first. His voice broke through again, “Ethan…” 

“You can continue the dishes if you’d like, since you’re always so insistent that I don’t have to do them every night.” Smiling at him, I ignored him completely and dried off my hands before leaving to my room; his pity-filled expression taking over my mind as I walked down the hallway. He cares, I know he does, but I don’t care enough about myself to get help. I don’t care anymore if I hurt myself for the rest of my life. Maybe one day I’ll accidentally cut a bit too deep. That wouldn't be so bad, would it?


End file.
